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    Of Men and Mice: 50 Poems
    Of Men and Mice: 50 Poems
    Of Men and Mice: 50 Poems
    Ebook184 pages1 hour

    Of Men and Mice: 50 Poems

    By Monet Thompson

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Of Men and Mice is a collection of 50 poems. Each one is preceded by a brief explanation of what inspired that poem. Like many, Monet Thompson has been through a lot. She shares her memories and what she's learned from these experiences. If interested in its author, Of Men and Mice will both answer questions and create them. It's a conversation piece for sure.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherXlibris US
    Release dateFeb 8, 2022
    ISBN9781669809784
    Of Men and Mice: 50 Poems
    Author

    Monet Thompson

    Monet Thompson goes by the stage name "The M.O." She began writing poetry at eleven. Listening to and being influenced by the rap music of the eighties and nineties in northeast Baltimore, Maryland, she obtained her first job at fourteen and has been independent ever since. Irma’s Gun is loosely based on true events and her life story.

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      Book preview

      Of Men and Mice - Monet Thompson

      Copyright © 2022 by Monet Thompson.

      All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

      Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

      Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

      Rev. date: 02/03/2022

      Xlibris

      844-714-8691

      www.Xlibris.com

      831798

      Contents

      Dedication

      Epigraph

      Baseball

      Log Cabin In The Country

      Wait For What?

      I Need Assistance, Please

      Broken

      Man

      No Teeth

      You Taught Me Well

      I’m An Animal

      Buy In

      Last Time

      Beautiful Ones

      Oui

      Different

      What’s Next On The Menu?

      You Will Never Find Yourself

      Bullshit

      Start Slow

      Mr. Bleich

      Eleven

      Of Men And Mice

      Round 2

      Mr. Steve Thommen

      Dumb Cracker Trap

      Better Dayz

      Small

      New Day

      My Seed

      Another Way To Be

      That’s How It Work

      What’s In A Name?

      Mr. Drain

      Burnt Toast And Coffee Time

      Under New Management

      Childhood Sex

      Moon

      Turned Off

      Cousin Son

      On My Terms

      Mr. Jimmy Love

      Go Against The Grain

      Feel And Do

      Halftime

      Mr. Zolin

      And The Game Goes On...

      Ms. Martha

      Hue-Miliation

      Cool Breeze

      Dumb Nigga Trap

      Proceed To Death

      DEDICATION

      This book is dedicated

      to my elementary school basketball head coaches

      Mr. Jimmy Love and Mr. Steve Thommen.

      In the first grade

      Mr. Jimmy Love convinced my mother to let me play.

      Along with introducing me to the game’s fundamentals

      he started me at center.

      Were it not for him

      I would have never experienced

      all the benefits from organized sports.

      When I transferred to another elementary school

      Mr. Steve Thommen

      taught me even more about the game

      and continued to start me at forward.

      Aside from never knowing

      they were like surrogate fathers,

      they provided a strong foundation

      for the confidence I have in all areas of my life.

      Later I’d learn that since the time of my birth

      there were forces swirling

      determined to undergo a slow process of

      humiliation and belittlement

      that was to eventually lead to my death.

      Had these two men not given me these tools

      I’m not sure I would have survived.

      Thank you.

      EPIGRAPH

      Writing is fighting.

      -Ishmael Reed

      While I was a patient at

      Clifton T. Perkins Hospital Center

      I attended my first baseball game.

      From a distance,

      I always imagined going to be a boring thing.

      I was so wrong.

      Surrounded by my peers yet feeling so alone

      it was easy to get lost in the din

      of the action on the field

      and the subtle actions of the other spectators.

      As soon as I would sink into my seat

      I’d be interrupted by the voice of a vendor

      with peanuts, beer, lemonade or hot dogs.

      The jumbo tron and music

      would also break the monotony.

      I live for new experiences

      and can’t wait to go again.

      BASEBALL

      America’s Past Time

      only your seat has you fettered

      you can spectate, commentate or play if you choose

      just know

      that we never come to lose

      it’s so thrilling

      to see participants fully clothed

      scramble back and forth

      donning white powder and spitting stuff

      I see

      grandma used to dip snuff

      infield against outfield

      under high noon sun

      even in the rain

      we squat on newspapers with plastic over our heads

      this is our team

      we sit patient

      through seasons beginning to end

      when we achieve the pennant

      it was all worth it

      crying tears of joy

      they feel the victory as if

      they trained right in the faces of super heroes

      these guys with massive arms

      flat tummys and thighs of steel

      have a world wide type of appeal

      our season was undefeated

      so now the world watches

      folk from distant lands

      have wide eyes and fully understand

      they may not speak the same language

      or even have the same culture

      but the struggle is real all over

      Could they really do it?

      Tonight there’s butterflies in my gut

      ssshhhh... look straight ahead

      we’re up

      see the guy on the mound

      wigglin’ his hips looking around

      grandma used to do the very same thing

      she would stand at the table

      slicing kernels off cobs

      while gospel music played in the back round

      Hear that sound?

      Not baseline or punt on the ground

      no question mark or even a maybe

      that’s a home run

      a score right into the stratosphere

      watch it go

      they told us NO

      now we outta here, baby

      innings over

      switch positions

      look, somebody got hurt

      just going through the motions

      of kicking up dirt

      that’s how it happens

      it’s never the injury you’d expect

      have to sit out...

      doing some dumb shit

      check the coach

      from under the shelter

      out on the field helter skelter

      gotta argue

      if you don’t they’ll slide you a fast one

      I see

      used to watch grandma rear a rack of sons

      teach, scold and love them

      it’s amazing

      how over time

      the stars got aligned

      and we now have a team star studded

      must have been the forces

      that signed, hand picked and designed

      all the talent you see before you

      while our opponents stand stone faced

      with arms folded

      know it

      it was a good run

      but now it’s all over

      baseball

      My earliest memories were

      of being around my seven uncles, my

      step-grandfather, my grandmother

      and my older cousins Greg and Lisa

      in Tallahassee, Florida.

      Like many others these first experiences

      completely shaped who I am

      and prepared me for who I was to be.

      Being constantly surrounded by my uncles

      provided a comfort zone for me to become

      an emcee surrounded by men.

      My cousins were the siblings I never had.

      I would watch and assist my grandmother

      in her duties as both mother

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